On the ride home from work, I was thinking about collections.
I’m a collector. The Girl is a collector. The Boy is NOT a collector. Himself is a collector of awesome proportions.
The Girl had a rock collection, since she was 3. You know how some boys are about dinosaurs, the ones who can spout off encyclopedias-worth of dinosaur-y facts, the ones who can match 38 species of dinosaur with their footprints?
The Girl was like that about rocks. She was seasoned rockhound in a pinafore. She grew out of it.
Her obsession rubbed off on me. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe she was my excuse to finally buy these awesome bits of rubble. My fascination is not limited to minerals. I also have a heavy box of gorgeous smooth black rocks I collected from many strolls on various Puget Sound beaches during our 9-month assignment to Rational’s Redmond office.
I collect quilts. I make my own, and buy others. Not fancy art quilts or Amish quilts with meticulous craftsmanship, although I’m appreciative of those as well. I collect household quilts. Warm, cuddly quilts made from outgrown clothes, and used until they are quite worn. Humble, scrappy quilts, made with love, if not a whole lot of skill.
I also have a small but beloved collection of sea glass. My walks on Cape Cod beaches have NOT been very productive in that regard. The Girl had better luck on a class trip to Nice, France, where a few minutes’ walk on the beach brought a nice haul of seaglass, which the lovely child gifted to me when she returned. Where ARE the good sea glass beaches, anyway? Do you know?
Himself collects watches. And old radios. And old cameras. And ink pens, both the ordinary and the extra-special.
He says he’d LIKE to collect English cars.
I don’t know where we’d put them.
What do YOU collect?